Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous Entry | Next Entry



Metal begins to show through his cream plaster mantle.
Painted corners smudged with dirt—thumb over a sharpened cheekbone.

Extra pillows on the shelves, blankets, a favourite book:
his eyes rarely settle enough to read.

Restless numbers on the machine—crimson, green, rising, falling:
a bird rolling too deep, skimming the top of a prairie field.

The sheets are too light, too thin, his legs move--
a behemoth trolling beneath the cotton, insistent beneath his skin.

His voice struggles toward us, rallying against white tile, white walls.
We hold our hands cupped, trying to save every hollow word.

Metal intrudes through the plaster more each day.
I will never cover its bones.


( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
Aug. 6th, 2013 05:39 am (UTC)
Aug. 6th, 2013 06:04 am (UTC)
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )